My Hometown's in the Dark
by Type40Treklock
Summary: What happens to Crowley after the Almosaggedon? And how will Aziraphale deal with a broken demon?
1. Take my Soul and make it Undone

**Kay, just a depressing little fic here. Could stop here, or I might do a sequel, but tell me what you think!! The title is from twenty one pilots Hometown, and I listened to the song while writing this, you should go listen to it :) anyway, onwards!!** **Disclaimer: [insert long, unnessesary and utterly unread disclaimer here]**

Crowley and Aziraphale were drinking. Not, all in all, an uncommon occurance, but because of 'one thing and another' as the demon put it it was the first time Aziraphale had properly seen him scince the Apocaletsnot.

That was ok though, because it was common for the two to be apart for months at a time when upstairs and downstairs respectively remembered their existance and cast a half-hearted, slightly (read very) jugemental glance their way.

The thankfully still present sky was a deep blue scattered with stars, lit up by the lights of London. At some point (probably after a circuous discussion (read argument) about constellations) they had left the glowing warmth of Aziraphales dusty old back room (now filled with first editions of _Thomas the Tank Engine_ , courtesy of Adam) and relocated to the top of a low wall separating somebody's vaguely depressing square of concrete from somebody else's vaguely depressing square of concrete.

"Sssee!" hissed Crowley exitedly, "I told you, I told you..."

"You told me what, dear?" slurred Aziraphale.

"I told you, umm..." Crowley trailed off as Aziraphale hummed triumphantly.

"You didn't tell me." He announced, "See, I told you you didn't tell me!" It may be worth mentioning at this point that Crowley had had a substantial amount more of Aziraphale's alcohol than he himself had.

"What." said Crowley. He had gotten somewhat distracted by glaring at his wine bottle, which had had the nerve to become empty. He scowled pointedly at the bottle, which meekly refilled itself. Crowley took a huge gulp of the wine just as Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak.

"I told you you didn't tell me!" he said insistently. "I did!"

"Nope you didn't."

"Did."

"Didn't."

" _Really_ , Crowley, you're acting like a three year old." Huffed Aziraphale. Crowley hummed in a kind of vague acknowledgement. His bottle was empty again. A few minutes later Aziraphale piped up again.

"How much have you had, Crowley?" Crowley just looked at him with an expression which was either 'can't you take a guess' or 'I don't know and its not like I'm gonna guess'.

"Hmm." Aziraphale looked at Crowley properly for the first time that night. He looked, excuse his french, like hell. He had a split lip, and he was paler than normal. Aziraphale frowned and blinked, sobering up immediately.

"Crowley?" he asked hesitantly. "Crowley dear?" but there was no reply from the demon sitting next to him. Aziraphale frowned and, on a whim, leant over slightly to touch Crowley's hand, still slackly holding the empty bottle. As Aziraphale's fingers made contact with Crowley's cool skin Crowley's hand jerked violently and his whole frame winced - almost _flinched_ \- back from him. The bottle Crowley had been holding fell and shattered on the concrete below as Crowley snatched both arms up close to his chest in a distinctively defensive position. His shoulders went up as he ducked his head reflexively, legs twitching with the desire to curl up into a small, inconspicuous ball.

"Crowley?" said Aziraphale again, panic and a tiny, well disguised hint of worry colouring his voice. "Crowley! Talk to me!" Aziraphale reached up again to remove Crowley's sunglasses but thought better of it at the last moment and let his hand drop back to his lap.

"Crowley?" he said softly "it's me, it's Aziraphale. Can you talk to me?"

"Angel?" Crowley whimpered. Aziraphales heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice, it was so afraid. What could have made Crowley like this?

"Yes dear, it's Aziraphale." he replied quietly. He gently brushed a finger along Crowley's hand again but Crowley jumped and pushed him away.

"No, Angel!" he hissed, "you need to run, you need to go! Why did you come, why would you be here! GO!" Crowley was clearly panicking but he kept his voice eerily low and quiet as he whisper-shouted at Aziraphale to run.

Aziraphale stopped, mind in overdrive. Crowley clearly didn't know where he was, and Aziraphale knew he should reassure Crowley that he was on Earth, just a few streets away from his musty old bookshop. But curiosity got the better of him, and before he really thought the situation through, Aziraphale leant next to Crowley and whispered,

"Why do I need to run?"

"They're coming! They're coming, you can't let them get you! Run!" Crowley sounded truely frantic now. "You need to _go_ , Angel! Go! NOW!"

"Who's coming, Crowley?"

"NO! YOU NEED TO _LEAVE!_ " Hissed Crowley, terror forcing his voice louder.

"I'll go when you tell me who's coming." said Aziraphale resouloutly. Crowley shook and sobbed slightly. Aziraphale jerked back this time, shocked and, yes, he'd adimit it in the (relative) privicy of his own mind, _horrified_ at the thought of Crowley crying.

"B-b-b-"

"Beelzebub?" asked Aziraphale softly. Crowley nodded.

"And-and-"

"And Hastur?" guessed Aziraphale.

"And the rest..." Crowley whispered. Aziraphale's heart clenched. What had happened? And what did 'and the rest' mean? Other demons, presumably.

"Ok." he muttered. "Oh...kay. Crowley, we're going to go back to my bookshop. You're ok, you're on Earth." he said firmly, "come on, up you get."

Crowley shook his head frantically,

"No no no no... they'll see, they'll see, _they'll ssssee!_ " he hissed.

"No, it's ok Crowley, they won't see, they're gone, we're on Earth, they're not here." said Aziraphale calmly. 'Calm in a crisis...' he thought dryly. Crowley shook his head again, but allowed Aziraphale to haul him to his feet. As soon as Aziraphale let go, however, Crowley almost pitched head first off the wall. Aziraphale grabbed his arm again as he choked out a cry and his legs collapsed out from underneath him. Crowley whimpered and flinched again at the sudden touch and Aziraphale hurried to reassure him,

"It's ok, it's ok, it's Aziraphale." he said again.

"Angel?" whispered Crowley.

"Yes Crowley, it's me, it's Aziraphale."

"Angel!" said Crowley with relief, but soon his expression tensed to panic once more, "Angel run!"

Aziraphale frowned with worry and and placed a hand on Crowley's forhead. Crowley jumped back again but Aziraphale held him still by his arm.

"You're going to fall asleep, Crowley." he commanded and Crowley slumped forward into his arms.

"Ok." said Aziraphale and lifted the demon with all the ease of a warrior of heaven lifting a very slim, very - hold on, _very_ slim body. Too slim. Skinny, underweight.

"Oh, Crowley, what did they do to you? And why were you so worried about me coming to you?" Aziraphale murmered, and carefully carried Crowley the short distance back to his shop.

=

The next time Crowley opened his eyes, it was to a warm, musty bedroom above a warm musty bookshop. However with the headache he had the only thing he was interested in was paracetamol. Although to be fair paracetamol was pretty much the only thing he was interested in lately. He groaned and slowly raised a hand to his head. It was like someone flipped the switch to a very bright light. The memories of last night came flooding back to him all at once and he shot up to a sitting position in the bed, his back ram-rod straight. But as soon as his mangled brain managed to catch up with the influx of new information he sank back onto the double pillow with an even longer groan than before.

Flashback. Of all the g- all the someone forsaken times to have a flashback he had one on the _one_ night he decided to spend calling (read checking up) on Aziraphale. Typical. Just his luck. Really, _brilliant._ Oh yay. He sighed. This was going to take a hell of explaining, and he really, truely didn't want to _think_ about his trip to the office, let alone talk about it. Maybe Aziraphale wouldn't bring it up. 'Don't hope, Crowley.' said Hastur's voice in his head. 'no one will ever help you, no one will come, let alone an _angel_. He will never come, he would never risk his life for a _demon_ , in fact I bet he hasn't even realised that you're missing!'

'I don't want him to come, Hastur. I'm fine. I'm fine...'

'Why don't you want him to come, Crowley?' crooned Hastur, 'do you want him safe?'

'I don't care, I don't care, I don't, I don't!' Shrieked Crowley as phantom knives tore into his skin

'I think you do, Crowley. I think you care. Do you know what happens to demons who care, Crowley?'

'Yes! Yes, I know, I don't care about him, I don't, I don't care!'

'You do!' cried Hastur triumphantly, 'you care!'

'NO!' screamed Crowley,

'Zzzip it, traitor,' Beelzebubs voice joined Hastur's, but in the dark Crowley couldn't see him, couldnt tell where the voice came from.

'no...' whispered Crowley as rough hands dragged him away _again_ , 'no...'

=

"CROWLEY WAKE UP!" Screeched Aziraphale kneeling next to Crowley on the bed but afraid to touch him after he had screamed 'NO' last time Aziraphale had taken his shoulder.

"CROWLEY!" Suddenly Crowley's eyelids fluttered and opened to reveal golden eyes that were more slit pupil than iris with fear. His gaze flickered around yhe room before locking on Aziraphale.

"Angel?" he muttered, "angel..."

"Hush Crowley" Aziraphale whispered, "we're at the bookshop, it's ok, you're ok." He honestly didn't know if he was reassuring Crowley or himself. "you're fine, Crowley."

He brushed Crowley's hand gently but immediately felt guilty as Crowley shied away. He hurriedly drew his hand back and and left it splayed on the bedclothes as if to show he wasn't about to try and touch Crowley again. Crowley looked down at his hand with an unintelligible expression. Crowley glanced up at Aziraphale's face, and seeing him watching quickly looked down.

"Crowley..." said Aziraphale softly. But what was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to ask what happened? How could he help Crowley through something if he didn't even know what what it was?

"Crowley, it's ok. You're ok." he wanted to reach out to him, to hold his hand, but he couldn't, not after he'd seen Crowley jump when he so much as moved towards him.

"Angel?" said Crowley again.

"Yes Crowley, it's ok, I'm here."

"Why." said Crowley blankly. It was a question, but he made it sound like a statement. "Why am I here. With you. Why?"

Aziraphale blinked, confused. "Where else would you be?" he said just as blankly.

"I don't know. Anywhere. Not here." Mumbled Crowley.

"Why wouldn't you be here Crowley?" asked Aziraphale, tilting his head slightly.

"Because- because-" Crowley broke off suddenly. Staring ahead with the expression of someone utterly and comepletely lost. Aziraphale waited, expecting him to continue, but when it became clear that Crowley had abandoned the conversation, he shifted slightly to get the demon's attention.

"Do you want something to drink? Tea?" he asked quietly.

"I-" Crowley looked amazed. "Yes. -please! thank you."

"Ok." said Aziraphale with a small smile - finally something he could do! - "I'll be right back." Crowley nodded slightly, looking bewildered, and somewhat in shock.

Aziraphale stood up and trotted down the stairs, shooting another small smile at the demon as he left the room. Crowley just stared after him, his face schooled blank of emotion.

Aziraphale careened into his kitchen, taking the right angle corner in far to quickly and hardly stopped as he grabbed the kettle, miracled it full and dropped it on the hob, flicking the gas on instead of heating the water instantly. Of course, he could have just miracled a cup of tea up but truthfully, he wanted to think. As he waited for the kettle to boil he thought (read worried) about his associate come friend who was lying numbly on the bed upstairs and ran through the events of the past night. What could gave happened to Crowley? Supposedly he had been in Hell, but that hardly explained his behaviour. Obviously Hell wasn't _exactly_ hospitable, not the best spot for a summer holiday, you might say, but surely they wouldn't hurt one of their own?

'But angels cast out other angels all the time.' said an annoying little voice which he usually kept thoroughly buried under books and alcohol. 'if angels will do that to each other, image what _demons_ do.'

Aziraphale swallowed. 'But how does that explain his behaviour around _me?_ Why is he suprised that I want to help him?' Aziraphale abruptly stood up and was turning to get out a bottle of very strong whiskey when the kettle whistled with it's usual air of piercing disregard for anything else occuring at moment.

He spun round and turned off the gas, snatching two cups off the shelf with more force than strictly necessary and added a teabag to each. Pulling out the sugar with one hand and jerking the cutlery draw open with the other he grabbed a tea spoon and added two sugars to one of the cups. He thrust the sugar further back on the worktop and picked up the hot kettle with a blatant disregard for the safety of his hand before tipping the water into each cup. Fishing out the milk he finished making the tea and picked up both cups before heading back upstairs.

When he came back into the bedroom Crowley was fiddling nervously with the duvet cover, but as Aziraphale entered he stopped abruptly and shifted away from the door.

Aziraphale smiled gently, "here you go, Crowley, tea, no sugar." He held the cup out to the demon and smiled reassuringly. Crowley reached out hesitantly, glancing at the cup, then at Aziraphale, then quickly back down at his lap.

"Thank you." he whispered, taking the cup gently.

"No problem." said Aziraphale, and took a big gulp of his own sweet tea.

Crowley didn't drink his straight away, though he looked at it as though he might eat the cup, too. He held it close to his face and sniffed slightly, glancing warily at Aziraphale the whole time. He seemed satisfied as he took a tiny sip, swallowing quickly, but soon took a much larger mouthful when nothing happened. He looked at Aziraphale again as though he wanted to speak, but quickly looked back down at his tea which he now had nestled between his hands as he waited for it too cool a little more. Aziraphale caught the look, though.

"What is it, Crowley?" he asked gently. Crowley shot another quick look his way, but didn't speak. "It's ok, you can ask." Aziraphale reassured him. Crowley swallowed, but squeezed his cup firmly and looked up at Aziraphale again. His gaze dropped again as he said,

"Could- could you, um, come-" he swallowed clenching his fists around his cup to stop them from shaking, "come closer?" he whispered faintly, then said quickly, much faster, "it's ok if you don't want to, I know you don't, I'm fine-" he looked up at the Angel in something like awe as he suddenly felt Aziraphale's soft hand on his, shock and joy, buried under layers of fear the only things visible on his face.

"Is this ok?" murmured Aziraphale gently. Crowley nodded, looking a little more sure of himself.

"Thank- thank you" he said, his hand subconsciously tightening around Aziraphale's, before abruptly relaxing. Aziraphale squeezed back softly. "No problem, dear." Crowley's eyes widened on the word 'dear', but Aziraphale was too caught up with joy at this tiny show of trust in the middle of all that fear to care. He smiled at Crowley and was rewarded with a hesitant twitch of one corner of Crowleys mouth.

"No problem at all."


	2. Spirits in the Dark are Waiting

"Havvv you learned your lesson, little brothhher?" Came Beelzebub's voice, buzzing close to his face.

"I have, I have, I don't care, I-... please. Please, I know, I KNOW!" Crowley's pitiful whimper raised to a shout as Beelzebub splashed him with more holy water.

"Are you sure, Crrrowley?"

"Yes!" he gasped, "Yes."

Beelzebub smiled grimly, and dropped Crowley into the puddle of holy water on the floor of the cell. "Good." he approved, ignoring the muffled shrieks coming from under the gag he had just materialised. "Then you shall go back."

=

Crowley jumped awake, shivering, drenched in a cold sweat. He flinched back soundlessly, expecting more torment now that he was conscious but hoping that They hadn't noticed, and tightened his defensive, curled up position. But none came. Slowly, he raised his head to take a better look at his surroundings, to see who found it funny to make him wait. But there was no one. He sat up, his muscles still taught in anticipation. Only then did he remember. Angel.

"Mmmf, yes?" came a muffled voice, making Crowley jump again. "What? Crowley?" the voice sounded more awake now. He must have said it out loud. Damn - bless - whatever.

"Angel?" he whispered, "A-Aziraphale?"

"Yes, Crowley, it's Aziraphale. I'm sorry, I fell asleep. Picking up your habits." murmered Aziraphale, and gently took Crowley's hand. "It's ok."

Crowley turned to face him in the darkened room, timidly tightening his grip on Aziraphale's hand, "Why?" he asked simply.

"Why what, dear? What is it?" hummed Aziraphale.

"Why am I here?"

Aziraphale sighed internally. Crowley had asked that twice now, but before Aziraphale hadn't given a proper answer. This time he would.

"We were drinking. You had a - a panic attack, I suppose."

Crowley muttered something at that, but Aziraphale couldn't make it out. "Pardon?"

"Um - nothing. I'm fine. I - I don - I'm fine." stuttered Crowley, but Aziraphale wouldn't drop it.

"Come on, Crowley." he said softly, with just a hint of insistance. "Tell me."

"I just - it was just... it was a flashback. Not a panic attack. I - I know." he said quietly.

"You know what, Crowley?"

"I - nothing." He said quickly.

"... ok" replied Aziraphale softly.

"Anyway, I need to go." Crowley announced with a sudden decisiveness.

"What?"

"I can't be here. I'm fine, but I have... duties... to attend too." said Crowley firmly.

"But," began Aziraphale, but stopped, taking a better look at Crowley's face. The demon was a good actor, but Aziraphale had never seen his face wiped quite so blank of emotions in a long time. Certainly not scince before the days of the Arrangement. "ok..." he said carefully, "but you can pop back anytime, ok?"

"I don't think I will be able to get in touch again for quite a while. And i don't think you should try." Replied Crowley bluntly.

"Ehhh, ok then," answered Aziraphale in a tone of pure bemusement, "but know you're always welcome, ok?"

"Goodbye, Aziraphale." And with that, Crowley vanished. The only things that showed he had ever been there were the rumpled sheets, the empty tea cup on the bedside table and the confused - and just a _tiny_ bit lost - expression on his oldest and only friend's face.

=

"Ok, Beelzebub. It's done." came Crowley's somewhat high-pitched voice. All anyone could see of the demon was a faint outline of his figure as he stood in a park, facing a bench illuminated by a yellow street light.

"Izz it, Crowley?" suddenly there was a figure on the bench. The hulking, muscular visage of Beelzebub's preferred vessel leered slightly at Crowley. "I'm afraid we foresaw this outcome. We have been watching, Crowley. We know you did not fully complete the requirements of your orders, Crowley. Do you know what we will do now, Crowley?"

"Beelzebub, let me expla-" Crowley responded hurriedly.

"No. Answer the question." Cut off Beelzebub.

"... Yes." whispered Crowley hoarsely.

"Louder, Crowley." Smirked Beelzebub, "Obey."

"Y - Yes. I know." Said Crowley with as much force as he could muster (not much). Beelzebub smiled slightly (if the foreboding twist of his lips could be called a smile).

"You will be pleased to learn that you will be exused from the required punishment, for this once only. However in return you will be expected to fulfill the final requrement immediately." he smirked.

"Y - yes. Thank you." said Crowley as loudly as he could.

"Go, Crowley, you are excused. We will be watching."

=

Crowley hurried away from the park, not daring to glance back at the terrifying figure on the bench. He practically ran along the pavement, not wanting to slow down while he could practically feel the eyes burning through him, _into_ him.

"I'm going, I'm going, I'm going," he repeated under his breath. All too soon he arrived back at Aziraphale's bookshop.

'Deep breath'. He walked up to the door and knocked once, twice. He stepped back just as the door swang open.

"Crowley? Hello." said Aziraphale's bewildered voice.

"Hello. I just wanted to say that I think we should stop the Arrangement. I just need you to say yes. Just say yes." he said in a rush.

"Now just hold on a minute dear-"

"I'm not your dear!" said Crowley in a tone bordering on hysteria, "I never was! I would never allow myself to be in such close communication with the Adversery! Just say yes, Aziraphale, then we can both be getting on."

"But Crowley-" started Aziraphale again.

"Just say yes already and be done with it!"

"Um, ok, my de- Crowley, but you must come round to talk about this soon. Yes." complied an even more bewildered Aziraphale.

"Theresss nothing to talk about!" hissed Crowley, before turning and retreating into the Dark.

=

"OK, Beelzebub!" Crowley shouted, fighting to keep his voice level, "done! I went to the Angel, I tempted him to a frivolous activity once more to prove my loyalty, and now I have disbanded our Arrangement and discontinued further communication!"

"It took you long enough." said Beelzebub harshly, "You know, Crowley, having an - ah - _flashback_ as you so elegantly put it in front of the Enemy could be seen as the traitorous showing of weakness to the opposing side."

"No!" choked Crowley, "I mean - in this case the benefit of the possible attempt at temptation would be given, wouldn't it?" he said, desperation tinging his voice.

"Not to one already convicted of traitorous activity, Crowley." replied Beelzebub gleefully. "I shall see you Downstairs, little Serpent."

Crowley flinched and closed his eyes in horror for a moment, and when he opened them, Beelzebub was gone.

=

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=

=

The next time Crowley came to Earth was in three months. Three months of non-stop torture in Hell, and he came back shaking.

Crowley avoided Azira - _the Enemy_ \- and followed his orders to the letter. Even then, though, Beelzebub and assorted other demons found faults in his performance, and he was dragged off again and again for _reminders_ of his superiors' power, and their ability to do absolutely a anything they liked with him. Time truged on like this for months, each trip Downstairs leaving him emptier and more remorseless than the last. He continued having flashbacks, and spent days on end curled up in some deserted alley, trembling and flinching, trying to keep his head clear and not drift off into his mind, where Beelzebub, Hastur and dozens of others waited. Of course, after each of these episodes he was punished for waisting time. Eventually they grew less out of pure self-preservation. Existence (what he had could no longer be called life) contiued like this until he was called Downstairs quite out of the blue. Then things began to happen.

Crowley was escorted to the Council Chamber, and placed in front of the thirteen highest demons in Hell, Beelzebub, Hastur, Dormus, Librios, Lilith, Alistair, Morelmouth, Spenyur, Fortus, Tel, Enchadya, Owna, and Ichil.

"Crowley!" said Beelzebub in a horrible mockery of happines, "we have a new job for you."

"It is important." said Lilith sharply.

"The punishment for failure will be most unpleasant." agreed Alistair.

"However we are confident you will complete it." intoned Librios.

"You would not be so foolish as to fail." added Morelmouth.

"You will receive your orders subsequently." Fortus informed him.

"In the meantime..." began Tel.

"You will tell us your thoughts..." ordered Owna.

"On the subject matter..." continued Spenyur.

"Of the Earth-Bound angel!" finished Dormus triumphantly.

Time froze. At least, it should have. Unfortunately it had the dexterity to continue on it's march.

"My thoughts on the Earth-Bound angel." repeated Crowley dumbly.

" _Now,_ Crowley" Frowned Hastur, "Do not hesitate."

"I - I have none." replied Crowley cautiously. It was true. he had very quickly learned not to think about that particular Enemy. Downstairs didn't like it. "He is the Enemy."

"He is," agreed Ichil. The demon had been suspiciously quiet until now, but now she was speaking. "What are your thoughts on the Enemy?"

"My thoughts. My - the Enemy must be eliminated." said Crowley in a monotone.

" _Why_ must the Enemy be eliminated, Crowley?" probed Ichil.

"Because - Because they stand in the way of our cause." answered Crowley. Ichil turned to her left where Alistair was sitting, "You must remove the stutter. He may use it to cover his hesitation. Return him when you have completed this task."

"Very well." obeyed Alistair with a malicious smirk, "come along, Serpent. We're. going to have some more fun."

=

The next time Crowley was assessed by the Council he did not stutter. He did not hesitate either, but he told the Thirteen exactly why the Enemy should be removed, and exactly why he obeyed orders. He described what happened if a demon did not obey orders, and pledged to obey his. The Concil deemed him ready after exactly thirteen straight hours of questioning, some of them in less-than-pleasent situations. Then they gave him his orders. Crowley didn't swallow at the sound of them as he would have years ago, before the almost Apocalypse. He didn't frantically start looking for loopholes either. All he did was stare Ichil straight in the eye (his sunglasses were long gone) and say

"It will be done."


	3. Take my Soul and show me the Sun

Crowley had been in Hell, surrounded by the polluted red light of Sin and Blood for over a year. Understandably, when he resurfaced on the Earth the pure light of the sun came as something of a shock to his system, but he ignored it, simply setting off to find an alley somewhere. It was clear, of course, that the Enemy did not care for the demon, but returning to his apartment (did he have an apartment? The memories were fuzzy.) was still too risky. This task was unlike the others. There was no schedule, only a time limit. One month. One month to complete the task and return to the Council until punishment was enforced. No second chances. This was it.

It didn't take him long to find a base. Fully ustilising his serpentine demonic form he quickly found a place inside some fancy restaurant's wine cellar. In his other life he would have fully indulged in gluttony as soon as he found the place, but now the thought didn't even cross his mind

as he slithered out again almost immediately and headed to the nearest church. He would have to be careful. The Enemy residing here could sense him, according to his superiors. He vaguely recalled this being a failing on his part, being around the Enemy too much, but he had long since served his punishment.

He practiced masking his presence by seeing how close he could get to Priests and Preachers and other Holy mortals before they felt his presence. In three days of non-stop practice he had mastered it. He returned to the wine cellar on Thursday night with three weeks and four days left on the clock.

Sure enough, the Flaming Sword, formerly of War and before that of the angel of the Eastern Gate, (that was familiar, somehow, but he was sure it was irrelevant.) was lying behind some bottles. He removed it carefully, and wrapped the handle in the cloth placed next to it. He stowed the blade in the inside pocket of his coat which he had been given by the Council and waited. He couldn't risk the Enemy being suspicious of all the terrified Priests running around, convinced they'd been touched by the Devil.

The night passed, and he crept out of the restaurant lest he be discovered by a waiter. He kept moving all day, but as the sky darkened he came gradually closer to So-ho. As midnight struck on the clock in the nearest tube station, he made his way to the musty, old bookshop. 'It was a shame he couldn't be a snake and carry the sword,' he thought. 'All this would be so much more straightforward. Kill him in his sleep, then.'

Because those were his orders, to be carried out within one month. Kill the Enemy residing in the bookshop in So-ho.

He approached the door, pulling out the sword. He gripped it tight with the cloth in one hand, and knocked sharply on the door with the other.

"Oh, dear," came a muffled, dithery voice through the door, "Yes, coming, comimg!"

The door opened and Crowley raised the sword above his head. The Enemy froze and Crowley brought the sword swinging down, and before he had evenhad time to register the mix of shock, astonishment and fear on the Enemy's face-

=

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=

"Crowley!" cried Aziraphale as the demon he had not seen hide nor hair of for over three years collapsed in his doorway. "What in the name of God?" It was the first and last time he had ever used the Lord's name in vain, and he could not have had worse timing, as it was at that point that the Metatron appeared, floating over the body and framed by the doorway.

"Aziraphale." He said

"My - My Lord..." greeted Aziraphale, his eyes flicking to the prone figure in the doorway, one hand still on the sword, and back up to the Voice of God.

"Do not trouble yourself with the Demon, Aziraphale. He will awaken." reassured the Metatron.

"Yes, my Lord. If I may ask, however, why have you not... smited... him?" asked Aziraphale tentatively.

"Would you rather I did?" offered the Metatron.

"No!" said Aziraphale quickly, "I mean-" but the Metatron cut him off with a laugh.

"You may relax, my child. I know your thoughts on the Demon, and I am not here to reprimand you for them. Quite the contrary, in fact."

"I - I don't -" stuttered Aziraphale, before giving up all attempts at pretence and saying frankly, "I have apsoloutly no idea what on Earth, Heaven or Hell You're on about."

The Megatron laughed again, "I appreciate your bluntness, and I shall explain my actions and my resons for them duly. However first I wish to ask you a question in return. My question is this: Given what you have just seen, that being your friend - yes, I know you still think of him as such - trying to stab you with your own sword after disappearing for three Earth years... do you still trust him?"

Aziraphale was silent. His immediate reaction was yes, but this was God asking. He had to be sure. "I believe," he said after a moment, "that whatever his actions, he has a perfectly - well, if not _good_ , per sé - ... reasonable... reason for them. He was never one for mindless violence, and he actually tried to help me fix things when his interference went too far, which I can't imagine curried him any favour with, um, Downstairs..."

"It didn't." the Metatron agreed. Aziraphale looked up sharply at that, but soon the Metatron was speaking again, "but continue."

"Well... yes. Yes, I think after all this I do still trust him." said Aziraphale slowly.

"That is good." said the Metatron, "for you were right, and he does have 'reasonable' reasons for this. Very reasonable in fact, but you shall have to get them from him."

"So... you're letting him stay?" asked Aziraphale, disbelief evident in his voice.

"If you wish it, my child. Many people come to me, begging me for forgiveness, for a second chance. And though all are forgiven, only few are allowed to try to forget, and of those few do. He is one of the few, and you, Aziraphale, must help him. The wounds his Soul suffered in Hell are great, but I have projected them into his vessel. If you care for these with love and compassion, his Soul will heal too. The angels will not intervene, but I hold no power over the Demons, and they will come soon, to see why he has not completed his task. You have three weeks and three days left, and then they will come. Be well, child, and help the Fallen on his path." there was a flash, and He was gone along with the sword. Immediately Crowley's eyes flickered open, focusing on where the sword wasn't before darting up to Aziraphale. Crowley's eyes grew wide and terrified at the sight of an angel standing over him while he was on the floor, defenceless.

"Ssstay away!" he hissed as he scurried back. But Aziraphale stretched out an arm, wincing at the horrible flinch Crowley gave and Miricaled the door shut and locked.

"Crowley-" he said clearly, but was cut off as Crowley hissed again, "Open the door! I'll go, just let me out, don't send me back... back Down There..." he trailed off, lookimg up imploringly at Aziraphale to the point where the angel just wanted to scoop him up and tell him that it would be ok, and then take him into the back room and get them both so drunk they couldn't remember their own names, let alone the problems of the day.

"Nobody's sending anyone anywhere." he announced firmly, "you're staying here, Crowley."

But Crowley didn't relax. Not even by a molecule. If anything, he grew tenser, staring up at Aziraphale with a carefully blank expression, "Why? What are you going to do to me? What is it, do you want information, because I can guarantee there's nothing you can do that Hell hasn't done already!" he snarled defensively. Aziraphale stared down at his best friend, heart aching at the implications of that terrified, defensive sentence.

"I'm not going to do anything to you, Crowley. I just want to help you. You're hurt." replied Aziraphale gently.

"Yeah, right." sneered Crowley, "Why would you help me? I'm just a demon, what kind of angel cares about a demon?" he winced, and mumbled under his breath, "'specially a demon who's about to have the biggest bounty in history on his head if I dont kill you."

Aziraphale decided to ignore all comments about killing him for now, and tried to talk about something neutral. "What do you mean bounty?"

"Nothing that'll benefit you!" said Crowley, fear coming back into his voice, "just something like three months immunity from punishment out something!"

"What 'punishment', Crowley?" asked Aziraphale cautiously, not entirely sure he wanted to know.

"Nothing that can happen to you! Just like, when a demon screws up, you know? The rack, Holy water, an'... an'... other stuff." Crowley answered.

"Torture?!" exclaimed Aziraphale, horrified. "Did, um, did this... punishment... happen to you... often?" Aziraphale's voice came out as a high-pitched squeak.

"Well... you know..." Crowley glaced up at Aziraphale, who was staring at him before hurriedly looking down again, "quite a bit." he muttered. "It's fine. Happens to everyone at some point, everyone screws up."

"Right," said Aziraphale, "right. Crowley, can you stand up ok?"

"I'm fine." Replied Crowley. He did indeed get himself standing, but his face turned a ghastly white and his hands shook badly.

"Come here." ordered Aziraphale suddenly after seeing him stumble once. Crowley looked at him and swallowed, obviously to afraid of 'punishment' to disobey. He wobbled over to the angel, who wrapped an arm round his waist for support and slung the demons arm over his own shoulders. Crowley flinched at the touch but didn't object, though Aziraphale thought that probably had more to do with fear than trust.

"We're going upstairs." he informed the demon, then, as an afterthought, added, "you can ask questions and talk and all that."

"...Ok." said the demon quietly, "... thanks."

"Of course." smiled Aziraphale, delighted at the voleteered words.

They made their way to the stairs, and just as they were about to mount them, Crowley spoke up again, "Why am I going upstairs?"

"You're bleeding, I can see it through your coat." answered Aziraphale.

"So? I've been bleeding for ages. Shouldn't show on the vessel though. Did you do that?" Crowley returned.

"No, I didn't. And I'm going to stop the bleeding, and fix anything else too." said Aziraphale, deciding not to think about Crowley bleeding for ages.

"Why are you fixing it? The only reason people fix stuff is so they can break it again."

"... I'm not going to break anything, Crowley."

"Why though? I'm a demon, you're an angel. It's kind of the point."

"Well, I've got special orders." replied Aziraphale, trying to keep his voice even through the tears he could feel coming at the thought of what Crowley must have suffered, "here we go." he opened the door to the bedroom, neat and clean with pretty green covers on the bed and the tiny bathroom off through a door. "Take your coat and shirt off, I'm going to get some medicine."

"What's medicide?" Crowley called as the door closed. There was silence for a moment, and then a somewhat wobbly voice said,

"It makes the pain go away."

"Ah," said Crowley to the silent room, "I doubt it."

=

 **And then my feels created a sadness field so strong that everybody died. The end. Just kidding lol XD that was dark though, but on the other hand nothing graphic.**


	4. You Make the Fire in my Bones

When Aziraphale returned holding numerous assorted paracetamols, ibrobrufens, bandages, a suture kit, and some numbing cream he had found at the bottom of the emergency first aid box from under the sink, Crowley was slumped weakly at the foot of the bed topless.

All Aziraphale could see was the front of his chest, but that still brought him up short. It was a mess of cuts and bruises, most of the ragged edges still bleeding sluggishly. There were dozens of vicious looking, shiny burns along with awful blackened patches of skin where the flesh was beyond healing itself. There were ugly welts covering his forearms and dark purple marks which looked like fingerprints on his shoulders and neck, and all over his left shoulder his skin was simply missing. Clearly, God had made sure to help the demon walk, because one leg was obviously broken, and both his arms looked as though they had at least some fractures. God mustn't have matirialised those injuries until the demon was upstairs. Aziraphale whimpered at of all those injuries, and knelt down next to the demon before he could move.

"Shush, Crowley." he whispered, "It's ok. Just stay put, I'm going to fix it."

"Why?" asked Crowley again, eyes impressively focused and bright for someone with that amount of damage.

"What do you remember?" asked Aziraphale as he opened the boxes of tablets, "Swallow those," he added as he handed Crowley a handful of the pills.

Crowley inspected the pills carefully, "Why?" he asked again.

"Because those are the medicines. You need to have them, they stop the pain, a little anyway, and they stop it from getting worse. What do you remember?" Aziraphale busied himself with the suture kit as Crowley forced down the pills.

"About what?"

"About me." said Aziraphale, looking up just in time to see the triumphant look on Crowley's face.

"I knew it! I knew I used to know you! Thats how you know my name, isn't it? Can't remember specifics though. They ma- told me not to think about you. I didn't. Not for such a long time, I forgot." Crowley's voice got gradually quieter with each word, "I don't even know your name."

"Well, I'm Aziraphale. Pleased to meet you, Crowley." said Aziraphale softly.

"... thanks." said Crowley with such an air of amazement it was almost cute.

"Ok. I'm going to start fixing this now. I would miracle it but I don't want to burn you, and I'm not sure it would work. Luckily I picked up a few things from the Second World War. I'm going to feel your arm now to make sure it isn't broken. Ok?" asked Aziraphale.

"... ok." agreed Crowley.

Slowly, Aziraphale took care of Crowley's injuries, keeping up a running commentary the whole time. Eventually Crowley stopped flinching at the angel's touch, which Aziraphale regarded as a victory greater than defeating Satan, no competition. Aziraphale almost flinched himself at the sight of some of the cuts, which had the unmistakable raw look of being splashed with Holy water. Though of course he shouldn't flinch at the sight of something Holy. Crowley had remained quiet though the whole ordeal, but Aziraphale could see that his hands were shaking, however much he tried to hide it. Once Aziraphale had taken care of the smaller injuries, however, Crowley slumped, all the tension of pain and fear draining out of him as he fell into unconsciousness. Aziraphale sent up a prayer of thanks for that as he began on the larger gashes.

He gently dabbed antiseptic onto the edges before stitching them up carefully and securely taping gauze over each one. He rubbed burn ointment on the raw, scraped looking skin where the Holy water had splashed and sanitised Crowley's bleeding shoulder (which almost made him a little sick) before wrapping it firmly in bandages. Aziraphale began to check Crowley's arms, taking care of a number of injuries before discovering something even more worrying on his wrists.

On the inside of his forearms, where the vains and arteries were clearly visible, were dozens of tiny needle pricks. The area around the specks was red and raw, just like the skin exposed to Holy water. Aziraphale quickly put two and two together. He wished he hadn't.

The demons must have injected Holy water directly into Crowley's blood. That in itself must have been utterly agonising just from so much of Crowley touching the water, but the fact that Crowley's demon blood would have actually reacted with the water to form all kinds of new and nasty substances to float around in Crowley's blood made the whole thing ten times worse. And Aziraphale hadn't thought this mess could get worse before Crowley left, so this was just new da- 'angels don't swear' -levels.

"Ok, Crowley. Internal injuries, can't even come close to that with a First Aid kit. Thank Father you're asleep. And _here._ " He muttered to the prone figure in front of him. He reached for his Grace, for the core of his being, and placed a hand on Crowley's forhead. Aziraphale poured his soul into Crowley and his vessel, trying desperately to keep back the more 'angely' parts of his being. Crowley flinched and seized up, but he didn't wake, which Aziraphale thanked God for. The Grace healed Crowley's internal injuries, which suprised Aziraphale somewhat. This whole thing was touch and go really, but what surprised him more was the fact that Crowley's stiffness seemed to be more shock than pain. In fact, he was actually relaxing into the feeling of Aziraphale flowing through him, the tight lines which had been visible around his mouth since he had arrived snoothed out as the tension drained from him, and he leant his head very slightly into Aziraphale's hand. Aziraphale gaped slightly, and quickly took advantage of the opportunity to heal Crowley's back and legs.

As he twisted his liquid soul round to heal Crowley's front, however, Crowley's eyes snapped open and he shied back from Aziraphale's hand, panic radiating through him at the feeling of Holiness in his veins again. His right hand inadvertently leaped to the wrist of the other, clamping around it and pressing both vunerable spots into his leg defensively. Crowley stared wide eyed at Aziraphale, the fear in his eyes making Aziraphale's heart stutter. Hurriedly removing his Grace as gently as he could, he leant back and out of Crowley's personal space.

"Crowley?" he asked softly, "It's ok. Your back doesn't hurt now, does it?"

"...no." Crowley whispered shakily, then, "why?"

"It was my Grace, Crowley. I'm sorry it shocked you, I was healing you, that's all I promise." reassured Aziraphale.

"Why," began Crowley again, voice raising slightly, but still sounding suspicious and scared, "would you use your Grace to heal _me?_ I'm just a demon. A useless demon."

"Crowley-" Aziraphale started but paused, choosing his words carefully, "I don't care that you're a demon." Crowley's eyes flickered with something that looked remarkably close to hope, before they clouded over and the bright emotion was quickly covered with wariness, scepticism and fear. Actually, Aziraphale wasn't sure it had been there. Angels were not above imagining things.

"I don't judge you for being a demon, Crowley, you can't help it. And when I knew you, before... You never truly hurt anyone. You avoided it. You even helped me save the world, although you knew your superiors would be angry, Crowley. And do you know what else? You didn't tell me you might get hurt. I wish you had, but you didn't, and you held it back so that I wouldn't worry, Crowley. You did it to be _kind_ , and that makes me happy, even if it meant I couldn't protect you. And maybe you knew I want to keep you safe. I hope you knew, and maybe you did it so I wouldn't get caught in the crossfire, and to keep _me_ safe. And all those things make me care about you Crowley. They- They make me care _so much_. You're my friend, Crowley. And I'll always care." choked out Aziraphale. His eyes shone as he promised Crowley to always care, and by the end he was almost crying, and the hopeful, puppy dog eyes of his companion just made his throat close even more.

He forced himself to swallow and sternly reminded his body that _angels didn't cry._ He smiled at Crowley, who looked so open and clear proped up against the bed, as though Aziraphale could see every thought that went through his mind.

"Friend?" he breathed amazedly,

"Friend." Aziraphale comfirmed. "Let's get you into bed, you'll heal faster if you rest, ok?"

"Ok." agreed Crowley, one corner of his lips twitching slightly into his first smile in what felt like forever.

Once Crowley was situated (relatively) comfortably in the bed, proped up by pillows in a half sit so that he could see, Aziraphale sat down on the duvet next to him, smiling slightly and gently brushing the back of Crowley's hand, which was resting lightly on top of the covers. Seeing the action bring forth Crowley's second smile, Aziraphale took his hand in his own, rubbing soothing circles into the scarred skin. Not long after he brought the other hand up to softly stroke Crowley's hair. Crowley gave another little smile and kept his eyes fixed on Aziraphale's face as his eyelids slowly slid shut over his bright, golden eyes, and he slipped into sleep.

Aziraphale smiled, though not without sadness, at the almost peaceful sleeping face of his friend, and simply sat, hand in hand with the demon, for almost three hours.

At this point his vessel began to really feel the effects of pouring its soul into another body to do some serious cell reconstruction as he yawned and his head lolled slightly. He'd have to sleep soon, it was an expected and accepted after effect of healing, but he most certainly wasn't going to leave the room. Aziraphale contemplated simply climbing into the bed and sleeping next to Crowley for a moment, it was big and there had been times when him and Crowley sharing a bed had been nessesary, if only for warmth, so it wouldn't he awkward. But, he decided, he didn't want Crowley to be shocked when he awoke, so he carefully withdrew his hand and charged downstairs, grabbing a camping chair (yes he had a camping chair. Deal with it.) and heading straight back upstairs to quite literally set up camp next to Crowley.

Once he was also (relatively) comfortable he held Crowley's hand again and just watched him sleep for a little, curled up cat like in his chair, until he too slipped into oblivion, an expression of contentment gracing (pun completely intended) both their features.


	5. The Sun will Rise and we will Try Again

**chapter 5! Fyi theres a flashback/nightmare in this chapter so its probably a higher T.**

When Crowley woke to golden sunlight streaming through the large gap in-between the curtains the first sight his eyes met was Aziraphale, curled in a remarkably uncomfortable looking way in a camping chair next to the bed. Glancing down, he saw their fingers still entwined on the duvet and smiled. He let his mind wander over what had happened the night before, and wondered over the assurances Aziraphale had offered him. That made him smile even more, and he gave a tiny, contented little hum at the back of his throat. Eyes fixed on Aziraphale's sleeping face, he continued to mull over all that had happened in the last day. Aziraphale had used his Grace to heal Crowley's injuries, and had said he was Aziraphale's friend. Crowley tried to concentrate on the split-second of conscious when he had felt Aziraphale's soul healing him, but he couldn't really get a fix. All he could remember was feeling _safe_ , that is, until the realisation of something Holy touching him again hit him and all he felt was fear. But for that instant of drowzy softness he remembered truely feeling home. Crowley let his slightly tense muscles relax fully for the first time in far too long and blinked, coming out of his reverie and using a little of his virtually non existent power to restore his shirt to it's former shirtiness (it was more hole than shirt) he gasped and clamped a hand over his heart at that, and resolved not to use him magic again for quite a while. He looked up then, to see big, blue eyes peering blurrily at him from the chair.

"Crowley? You're awake." groaned Aziraphale. He squeezed Crowley's hand before letting go and stretching, yawning and blinking to banish the sleep from his eyes. "Suppose I drifted off. A most disconcerting experience, night one second and day the next. Are you feeling ok?"

"Yes." confirmed Crowley, before quickly adding, "Thank you."

Aziraphale smiled at the dark haired demon in the bed, sitting down on the duvet and looking at him critically. "How's your injuries? I healed your back and legs last night, but your front's only got human measures applied to it, I'm afraid."

"It's fine." assured Crowley, "Thank you. For, you know, healing it." his eyes flicked down again, a look of disbelief crossing his face for a moment, before being replaced with a quiet wonder at being healed.

"No problem, my dear. Tea? I'll make it properly, I still feel a little drowzy." asked Aziraphale. Crowley hesitated for a minute, which Aziraphale suspected had more to do with being wary of accepting anything that could so easily contain Holy water than being unsure about what to drink.

"Please." he said eventually. Aziraphale smiled fully, standing up and nodding. Another show of trust on the demon's part.

"Call if you want anything." he said, turning and heading downstairs, making sure to leave the door open.

Aziraphale bustled about making tea, and also dug out some more painkillers, because he didn't believe Crowley in the slightest when he said he was ok. Well, perhaps he was, but he must be hurting. The kettle whistled piercingly and Aziraphale snapped off the gas, grabbing two cups and making tea for the two of them. Taking the painkillers he made his way back up to the bedroom, meeting Crowley's eyes when he went in and smiling.

"Here you go. And I got you some more medicine, can't be too careful." Aziraphale set the tea and tablets down on the bedside table, and looked at Crowley. "Have all of those."

"Thank you." he said again. Aziraphale just smiled and plopped back down onto the camping chair, sipping his own tea. The two sat in silence for a time, Aziraphale serenely drinking his tea and Crowley testing his slowly at first, before acknowledging it's safety and drinking it openly.

"So, Crowley," said Aziraphale eventually, "We need to talk at some point." Crowley's eyes flickered up in alarm, before staring down at his tea, looking mildly like a child who has realised they've done something wrong, and are waiting for the 'explain why you thought that would be a good idea' speech. Aziraphale noticed the look, and ploughed on immediately. "But I don't want you to talk until you're ready. You don't have to do anything you dont want to, Crowley, I promise. And if you ever want anything, just say. I know you probably don't trust me, but I swear I'll never do anything you don't want me to, ok?" Crowley glanced up, swallowed, and nodded to his tea, biting his lip.

"Ok. I wanted to ask, Crowley, when I healed you last night, did I hurt you? I didn't mean to." Crowley looked up at that, clutching his tea, and said,

"No. It was fine. I just... I just panicked a little. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. And thank you, as well, cos it doesn't hurt anymore. So thank you." said Crowley, his voice a little wobbly still, but thankfully raised above a whisper now.

"You don't need to apologize. Of course you panicked, it's normal, don't worry. And I'm glad it didn't hurt. I wanted to heal you as soon as we got upstairs, Crowley, but I was worried it wouldn't work. Anyway, if it didn't hurt, do you think maybe I could heal your front?" asked Aziraphale tentatively. Crowley squeezed his cup tighter, and stared down at his white knuckles.

"It's ok to say no, Crowley. I don't mind, whatever you want." Aziraphale reassured him. Crowley glanced up, then looked down again, and shook his head slightly. Immediately he flinched back, as though he expected punishment for refusing, and his jaw clenched. Aziraphale sighed guiltily, and hurried to calm the demon. "Ok, that's fine. Thank you for telling me, Crowley. I'm glad you didn't let me heal you if you don't want me to. Good job." he said clearly. Crowley relaxed slightly and looked up at him again, seeking approval. When Aziraphale nodded, he swallowed and straightened back up, checking Aziraphale's face for signs of anger or any other dangerous look constantly. Aziraphale kept his face passive and slightly grateful, and finally said, "Ok Crowley, you need to rest. Try to sleep and I'll keep coming to check on you. Just call if you want anything." Aziraphale stood up, and with a last smile at Crowley, left the room.

Crowley watched Aziraphale leave, and silently thanked him for not closing the curtains. Lying down defencelessly in the dark and watching people stride through doors (with smirks on their faces and blood on their hands...) was never something he particularly enjoyed. But the light would let him remember that he wasn't down there anymore, that he was on Earth, and that it was ok. Crowley settled back on the pillows and closed his eyes obediently. Ah, now this wasn't quite so good. Lying, helpless with closed eyes and shaking breaths as he waited... he opened his eyes. It was ok, Aziraphale said he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to. But he would. He would close his eyes and sleep, but not right now. Not right now. He couldn't. Crowley shifted in the bed and clenched his fists, focusing on the feeling of his fingernails digging into his palms. That was better. He closed his eyes again, forcing himself to relax and compensating for the limp, useless feeling by pressing his nails back into his skin. He stayed like that for a minute, until he felt the first trickle of blood run down his palm. He let go then, leaving the blood to clot, and praising himself curtly for relaxing. Not long after, he slipped into sleep.

 _"Hurting yourself again, little snake? Haven't we talked about this already?"_

 _Crowley lay on the cold, hard floor which was now slick with blood. He trembled as the demon grabbed his arm in a vice like grip, easily lifting his starved frame from the floor and ran a finger down one of the long, bloody scratches there._

 _"Well? Answer me!" she commanded._

 _"They-" Crowley winced at being forced to use his recently regrown vocal chords so soon. The demon scowled and dug her fingers into one of the cuts, prying up the skin. Crowley gasped and hurried to continue, "They said... it was good... to... hurt." he panted between whimpers. The demon kicked him viciously, snapping one of his already fractured ribs._

 _"Fine. Then why the Hell haven't you healed?! Useless!" she bent a finger back until the ligaments popped, the ping echoing through the cell, accompanied by Crowley's scream. The demon tore into the skin on his arm again, then dropped him abruptly. Crowley cried out as he hit the floor amd stayed there, whimpering._

 _"Shut up, you pathetic little excuse for a demon!" she yelled, stamping on his wrist as she marched to a table against the far wall. Crowley fell silent immediately, well aware of what would happen if he failed to follow an order. The demon waved her hand and some chains suspended from the ceiling, and Crowley was lifted off the floor, the harsh movement jarring his injuries. The cuffs on the end of each chain fastened too tightly round his arms just above his wrists, the chains long enough to let him kneel with his arms stretched above him. The demon turned, a hideous smirk on her face, holding a needle with a syringe of clear liquid on the end. Crowley shook his head frantically, trying to shuffle away as the demon stepped closer._

 _"Stand up, little snake." she whispered. Crowley stood shakily, arms now level with his face. "Stretch it out, Crowley." Crowley held out his wrists for her, trembling and almost falling back to his knees as he did so. The demon smirked wickedly and held one of Crowley's arms still. "You have to watch, Crowley." she said quietly. Crowley kept his eyes fixed unblinkingly on his wrist as she injected him with the Holy water. She removed the needle and he shuddered and squirmed, hanging his head and gasping as he tried not to make a sound. "Ok, Crowley, you can do whatever you want now." Crowley promptly fell back onto his knees, tiny whimpering sobs escaping his throat. The demon sighed loudly, "thought so. Utterly useless." she gestured at the chains again, and they pulled Crowley painfully into the air, so that only the tips of his toes were brushing the floor. Crowley whimpered loudly, and she leaned closer to his ear. "Well if you hate this so much, we'll do it on the rack in three hours, ok?" Crowley made a panicked humming noise and shook his head violently, flinching back. The demon just smirked, and left the room. Halfway down the corridor she stopped, as the agonised screams of Crowley echoed from the room as the Holy water hit his nervous system. Really, it was impressive he didn't scream as she injected him._

"Crowley, wake up. Come on, wake up Crowley, it's ok!" Crowley was flinching and whimpering on the bed as Aziraphale sat on the bed. "Crowley!" Aziraphale gave up eventually and decided to touch him, eliciting a louder panicked whine as Crowley flinched back from his hand. Aziraphale endured, however, and eventually succeeded in waking him.

Crowley lay, completely stiff and still, watching Aziraphale warily. The angel still hadn't taken his hand from Crowley's shoulder, and Crowley found himself slowly relaxing into the warm touch.

"A- a-" Crowley groaned, but was quickly shushed by Aziraphale.

"It's ok, Crowley. Just a dream, you're back on earth now, you're safe." Aziraphale murmured, before shifting closer to the demon and lacing an arm round his shoulders. Crowley flinched a little again, but Aziraphale let him, gently pulling him into a hug. Crowley held stiff for a moment, tense in Aziraphale's arms, before he let go. The demon sagged against Aziraphale's chest, burying his face in the angel's shoulder and letting out a shaky breath. Aziraphale held Crowley gently, whispering soft promises and reassurances in his ear. They stayed togather like that for what felt like an eternity, with Aziraphale softly stroking Crowley's hair and Crowley clutching Aziraphale's shirt.

Eventually Aziraphale disentangled himself from the demon and placed both hands on Crowley's shoulders. Crowley hung his head, refusing to look at the angel, and Aziraphale suspected it had something to do with the wet patch on his shoulder.

"Crowley. Look at me." said Aziraphale firmly. Crowley raised his head immediately, keeping his eyes fixed unwaveringly on Aziraphale's face. There were shining tear tracks still streaking down his face, flashing in the sunlight and Aziraphale could feel his shoulders shaking. His expression, however, was one of blank submission. Aziraphale raised a hand to rest on Crowley's face, but let it drop when Crowley flinched back from the touch, gold eyes still fixed unblinkingly on Aziraphale's face.

"Ok, Crowley." said Aziraphale softly, "you're ok. You had a nightmare, it's fine. You're in my bookshop, remember? I- I won't hurt you." Crowley swallowed, and nodded. This was a risk, but Aziraphale couldn't think of anything else to do or say at this point. "Ok. Just relax, Crowley. Lie down." Crowley let himself drop back onto the pillows, and forced himself to relax. All the time, his eyes never left Aziraphale's face. "Close your eyes, Crowley." said Aziraphale softly. Crowley's breathing hitched, and he stifled a flinch. Keeping himself relaxed, he closed his eyes obediently but bit his lip hard. "Ok, Crowley good job." Aziraphale gently reached over and took Crowley's limp hand in his own. He felt the muscles tense before relaxing abruptly, and squeezed it gently. Then, he sang.

The songs that flowed from Aziraphale's lips to fill the room were old, and for the most part in Enochian, the language of the Angels. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley understood, if he could remember his old language. He might, he seemed to remember quite a bit about heaven. Crowley layed submissively on the bed as Aziraphale sang, but gradually his breathing evened out, and he stopped biting his lip. Aziraphale watched a drop of blood make it's way down Crowley's cheek from his mouth, but he just kept singing. Eventually Crowley's breathing evened out, and he slipped into sleep. Aziraphale continued his song, thanking God that the Enochian half-magic (for it wasn't a true spell, it just _inclined_ people to feel at peace.) had worked, and hadn't hurt the demon. But really, it was unlikely if Crowley had been unhurt by healing. Aziraphale stayed next to Crowley for hours, determined that Crowley would have no more nightmares today. Eventually his song of peace changed, sutbly at first, but more obviously as he grew bolder. He found himself wondering again if Crowley knew Enochian, if he could hear the words in his sleep.

And what effect an angel singing a song of love above him would have on his self-esteem.


End file.
